


Muddy Waters

by RossKL



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Demon in a Bottle, Iron Man Vol. 1 (1968), M/M, Psychological Horror, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 21:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RossKL/pseuds/RossKL
Summary: Tony bleeds. It's not real.





	Muddy Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Muddy Waters by LP.  
Written for the Lights on Park Ave challenge, inspired by [this quote](https://lightsonparkave.tumblr.com/post/188095046321/one-need-not-be-a-chamber-to-be-haunted-one-need).

_One need not be a chamber to be haunted;_  
_One need not be a house;_  
_The brain has corridors surpassing_  
_Material place._

Hands are clawing at the edges of his head.

All he can feel is the raw burning of deep scratches. All he can hear are high-pitched screams.

His mouth is open, but no sounds come out. Everything is drowned by the cries.

_Cries for help, cries of pain, please please someone help._

A sane person would try to reason. _There are no screams. There are no scratches. You are not hurting._

_You’re fine._

Tony is not a sane person.

He hasn’t been for a while. He suspects he never was.

(He would laugh, if that didn’t bring back the retching. That’s always a mess.)

But the nails come back, and his head starts bleeding again.

Tony knows who those hands belong to— they used to be gentle to him. They used to pick him up after he fell, after he got hit, after he stumbled on his toes when he pushed himself to his limits and wandered around more asleep than awake.

_“You okay there, Shellhead?” – “I’m fine, Winghead.” _

Now they push him underwater, then proceed to claw at the scratches, just to let him bleed to death.

Tony welcomes them.

They’re a fine distraction from his burning throat.

He could try to swallow down gulp after gulp of the cheap ambrosia in the bottle on the nightstand, but he’s been there.

It doesn’t help. It never really helps.

Yet it’s the only liquid he has in the room. It’ll have to do.

(They say alcohol is good for wounds anyway.)

Only minutes later, an almost familiar figure stands out in the doorway. When he makes out the impressive physique and the righteous stand, Tony regrets giving in to his demons for almost one entire second.

He should have kept the burning throat.

The urge to laugh is overwhelming, and he barely manages to rein it in.

He feels delirious.

_Hopefully, this time he will claw at his brain until he stops thinking for good._

“Hiya, Cap. C’mon in — ‘n’ siddown. I don’t ‘spose you’d care to join me in a drink?” 


End file.
